


These City Walls

by TessaBennet



Series: What I'm Looking For [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Brooklyn, Childhood Friends, Falling In Love, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Slow Burn, and this fic is the literary embodiment of the grinning devil emoji, at least eventually, chapter specific warnings where necessary, in fact, or so I'm told, the barnes family, the boys had a life and a family before the war, the sweetest part is the torture before they get together, which I had a whole lot of fun with ngl, “the literal slowest burn of stucky as they go through their entire lives as pining idiots in love”
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 08:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TessaBennet/pseuds/TessaBennet
Summary: Before there was Captain America, before there was even a war, there were two idiots in Brooklyn, just getting by every day, living a life, trying very hard not to let it show that they had, as a matter of fact, fallen in love with each other.This is the first part of what I plan to be a multi-part fic spanning the entirety of the MCU, following Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes on their journey with, away from, separate from, and back towards each other.Part I is finished, will update regularly, will include a lot of self-indulgence and in-depth character building. It covers the years of their childhood and youth together, before the war caught up to the boys.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: What I'm Looking For [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218041
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. 11 February 1924

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a long time in the making, and I'm very excited to finally get it out there. It would not be here without the help and moral support of my wonderful beta [Aelin](https://jesuschristtakethewheel.tumblr.com), and I honestly cannot thank her enough for all the time I made her put into this! 
> 
> Please don't repost this fic to another site. Feel free to come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://tessabennet.tumblr.com). Comments and kudos are (obviously) always appreciated. Enjoy!

The first song little Steven Rogers learns to sing along to – or consciously picks up along the way, rather – is that Irish ballad his Ma's always singing. He thinks it must be her favourite. She sings it all the time. When she's tying her hair back in the morning before she goes to work, when she's peeling potatoes, and in the evening, when she's pulled Steve's blanket up to the tip of his nose.

She has a nice voice, Sarah Rogers. Soft and melodic with her Irish accent. Steve doesn't always have the breath to sing along to every stanza and every chorus, but he tries. He tries.

The first time he thinks about the words she's singing – rather than just the sing-song and the melody that carries them – is when he's five years old and lying in bed with what his Ma says is nothing but a little cold. He's been coughing and sneezing for days now, spending his time with two pairs of socks on his constantly cold feet while either his Ma or Mrs. Zimmerman from downstairs look after him.

Steve likes Mrs. Zimmerman. She always reads him books her sister from Munich sends her. He doesn't understand the stories, but she explains and it's almost like he understands German. She sometimes brings him lemon drops when her husband brings some from the shop he works at. She always yells at the boys who call her granddaughter Agnes names for having red hair and freckles. So yeah, Steve likes Mrs. Zimmerman, despite her harsh accent and the fact that she sometimes talks about her son Willy, who died years ago in the war.

Steve's not uncomfortable with the idea of death, though. His Ma says it's nothing to rack your brains about. It's a part of being alive. Part of the journey is the end, she says.

The first memory Steve has of his Ma talking about his Da is when he saw the photograph on the shelf where she keeps her lipstick and hairpins and the hat she wears to Sunday mass. It shows a man with blond hair – though not as fair as his Ma's – and a big nose, wearing a neat uniform and a grin Steve fancies he vaguely recognises from the mirror.

He knows his father's name was Joe. At least that's what his Ma calls him to other people. Sometimes people talk to her about Joe after mass. It always makes her look sad, even when she smiles. Steve knows his father died in the same war as Mrs. Zimmerman's son. He asked her about that once and she talked so quickly and harshly about the war that he didn't understand much. They all call it the Great War, but Steve doesn't see what's so great about it if so many people died.

But Steve's not uncomfortable with the idea of death. Not much, anyway. The idea of dying for no reason, though. That scares him.

His Ma's just gotten back from the hospital where she works and Steve's saying goodbye to Mrs. Zimmerman, who sat with him while he slept and coughed. She says he'll be up and running in no time and he hopes she's right. Steve hates being sick.

He gets sick a lot, however. He counts on it, every year, as soon as there's snow, sometimes even before that. When he asked his Ma about it, she said it's normal for people to catch a cold in the winter. Nothing to worry about. But he also knows that he does have things to worry about. Like his Ma always asks him about his heart because sometimes it beats strange. He knows he's got one bad ear – the right one. He knows he doesn't see colours like other people do. He knows there's something off with his blood that he doesn't really understand.

He sometimes thinks his body hates him. He sometimes thinks that a body that hates him is the stupidest way to die.

Steve locks the door behind Mrs. Zimmerman.

“Steven, go back to bed,” his Ma calls from the kitchen, where she's stirring a pot of soup. “You're sick already, lad, don't make it worse.” She sounds tired, like she usually does when she gets back from work. Steve obeys.

They have supper together and Ma gives him his sketchbook and a pencil afterwards, while she does the dishes. Steve draws the story Mrs. Zimmerman read to him this afternoon: a deer and her baby, living in a forest just like he and his Ma live in Brooklyn. The forest in Steve's drawing looks suspiciously like Prospect Park, too.

“That's enough for now, my darling,” comes Sarah Rogers' voice as she dries her hands. “Put that away, you need your rest.” Steve's been resting all day, he thinks, but he doesn't say. He knows that arguing with his Ma is useless. And rude. He doesn't want to make her more tired.

Ma sits down by his side when he's in bed and she tucks the blanket around him, gently touching his face when she's done. Steve knows what's coming, waiting for the first familiar words.

_“'O Mrs. McGrath,' the sergeant said_  
_Would you like a soldier of your son Ted?_  
_With a scarlet coat and a big cocked hat_  
_Now Mrs. McGrath, would you like that?'"_

Steve joins her for the refrain, but he's a little caught off-guard tonight. He's surprised to find the words she's singing in his head already. He always thinks Mrs. McGrath must look a lot like Mrs. Zimmerman, old and wrinkled. And Ted must surely look like Joe Rogers in his Ma's photograph. Smiling in his uniform. But he can never picture the sergeant.

_“Now Mrs. McGrath lived on the shore_  
_And after seven years or more_  
_She spied a ship come into the bay_  
_With her son from far away_

_'O Captain dear where have you been?_  
_You've been sailing the Mediterranean?_  
_Have you news from my son Ted?_  
_Is he living or is he dead?'”_

Steve is softly singing along, voice thin and raspy from coughing so much all day. He thinks about his Ma, waiting for him to come back on a ship after so long away. He can't really imagine it. He wonders where the Mediterranean is, for the first time since he heard the song. But he doesn't want to interrupt his Ma.

The thing is, Steve knows all of these words by heart. He can sing along, he finds. And yet, he never stopped to think about the story. About the mother missing her boy. He swallows around his dry throat.

_“Then came Ted without any legs_  
_And in their place two wooden pegs_  
_She kissed him a dozen times or two_  
_And said, 'My God, Ted, is it you?_

_Now were you drunk or were you blind_  
_When ye left your two fine legs behind?_  
_Or was it walking upon the sea_  
_That wore your two fine legs away?'"_

This is Steve's least favourite part. He tries to make up a man with wooden sticks for legs in his mind's eye, but all he can think of is Ernie from the grocery store on the corner to Navy Street, who lost half of his left leg in the war and always needs crutches to hobble around the shop. And tonight, it makes him angry to think about Ernie and Ted, losing limbs because of some stupid war. He can't imagine having only one or even no legs at all. He doesn't want to.

He loses track of the song then, missing the chorus and the next stanza, thinking about how Mrs. McGrath must have felt, seeing her son without legs. He wonders about that until his Ma squeezes his hand carefully through the blanket.

_"All foreign wars I do proclaim_  
_Live on blood and a mother's pain_  
_I'd rather have my son as he used to be_  
_Than the King of France and his whole Navy."_

Steve sings the final chorus with her, half-hearted and still lost in thought. Sarah Rogers clearly notices, frowning at him.

“Are you feeling worse again, Steven?” she asks when they are both finished. “Does your throat still hurt so bad, like this morning?”

Steve shakes his head. “Ma,” he says instead, “why'd Ted lose his legs?”

She blinks in surprise, caught off guard. “Why, darling, it's in the song. You've heard it a thousand times.”

Steve chews his lower lip. “Yeah, but why did he leave? Why'd he go with the captain?”

“For the war, love.”

“The one Da went to?”

She smiles at that, brushing his hair behind his ear. It keeps falling in his eyes. “No, Steve,” she says very gently, like she only does when he asks about his Da. “Another one. The war in the song was a long time ago; it's much older than your Da was.”

“Did Da lose his legs too?” And he doesn't mean anything by it. He's just fascinated, intrigued by the idea. But he can see that he's hurt her immediately, seeing tears in her eyes that she quickly wipes away.

“I don't think so, darling,” she finally says, voice faint and wet. He scrambles his hand out from under the blanket, quickly tugging at her and taking her hands. She laughs a little bit, wiping at her eyes again and kissing his head. “Go to sleep now, Steven. You'll feel better already in the morning.”

* * *

He does not feel better in the morning. His throat is raw, his nose is running, his feet are cold and he has a fever. On top of that, the song's been stuck in Steve's head all night.

Sarah Rogers makes him tea, brings him another quilt to wrap around his shaking body, soaks two rags in water and wraps them around his calves to bring down his temperature. Steve's head hurts and he's exhausted. He sleeps through the day again.

* * *

In the night, he can't breathe. He's gasping for air, wheezing with lungs that are tired of working. His Ma rubs his back, pulls him so his head is between his legs, puts a warm cloth on his chest. He vaguely registers Mr. Balstad from next door knocking to see if he can help and Ma sends him to get a doctor.

Steve's passed out again before the doctor even arrives.

* * *

He comes to again when the sun rises, chest aching and head spinning a bit. His Ma's not there, but he can hear voices from the kitchen. Mr. Balstad must have left again, but Doctor Kirby's still there, talking with Steve's Ma in a low voice.

“ – been getting worse every year, every time, Sarah,” he's saying, sternly but with sympathy. Steve wants to sit up to hear more, but he's too exhausted to even try.

“Doesn't mean it can't get better,” Sarah Rogers says in a defeated tone of voice Steve's never heard before. “Maybe if we find a treatment –“

“The kinds of treatment that he needs are not available to you. You know that. Hell, _I_ can't afford everything he would need.”

Steve's Ma is crying. He hears her sob. “Then what would you have me do? Give up on him?”

There's a pause. Then the doctor clears his throat. “Maybe it would be kinder.”

Another pause. “Get out.” This is another voice Steve's never heard his Ma use before. Cold like his feet, unforgiving and disgusted. “Get out of my home. Get out.”

Steve can't go back to sleep for a long time, after that. He watches as sunlight slowly starts streaming through his window, thinking about this body that hates him, tries to kill him like the war tried to kill Ted. He thinks he'd prefer the war. At least it wouldn't be his own body doing the maiming and the killing.

* * *

His fever breaks the following night and by the day after that, he can sit up again to eat a bit of soup. He's still weak, shaken by wet coughs, but it's easier now.

He doesn't ask his Ma about what the doctor said to her. He's too scared to hear her voice like that again – either the defeated, crying voice or the cold, disgusted one. She looks so relieved when he can finally get up on his own again, when he can put on real clothes and sit at the table. She looks happy when he can come to Sunday mass with her, and she cries a little while she's praying. She holds his hand as they walk home afterwards, squeezing it tightly and smiling at him.

* * *

But Steve's too curious to _not_ ask.

Days later, he's still thinking about what he heard that night. _Give up on him_ , his Ma said. Steve can't imagine her doing that. He's dead certain that he could come home after years and years of war, both his legs missing, and his Ma would _still_ not give up on him.

“Why'd he say it would be kinder?” he asks when they're back at their apartment, his Ma hanging up their coats by the door.

“Why did who say what was kinder, darling?”

“The doctor,” he explains a little awkwardly. He doesn't want to upset her again, but he knows he won't stop thinking about it until he's asked. “He said it'd be kinder if you –“

“Oh, Steve,” she says, dropping down to her knees and squeezing him tightly in a hug. “Don't you waste a single more thought on what he said, lad, you hear me?”

“But what did he _mean_?”

She takes a moment to think about it. Steve likes that about her. Whenever he asks her something serious, she takes her time to figure out how to explain it to him so it'll make sense.

“It's like with the bullies in the streets,” she finally says. “He thinks your body is a bully and that you should just stay down.”

Steve knows what she's talking about. He's been called names and been shoved and punched because he's smaller than any other kid his age. He's been laughed at because he can't throw a ball as far as the Carmichael boys or because he's slower than their little sister. Steve knows bullies and he doesn't like them.

And it sure feels like his body is bullying him. Like his lungs are taunting him for even trying to run. Like his heart is daring him to try, only to crush him when he does. But Steve wouldn't be Steve if he listened to the bullies.

“I don't wanna stay down,” he says to his Ma.

“I don't want you to stay down either, darling,” she says to him in a firm voice, a bit like she's giving him orders. “I don't care if it's against the real bullies in the streets or against your body being the bully. You listen to me close now, Steven. You _always_ stand up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week:  
> Introducing the Barnes family


	2. 21 June 1924

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny little warning for talk of death and funerals in this chapter (it's an OC, but still) - take care!
> 
> Also, feel free to come say hi to me on [tumblr.](https://tessabennet.tumblr.com)

Bucky Barnes loves Brooklyn. He loves it like the city’s part of his family.

Which is why it's all the worse when he's gotta be away from home.

He's seven years old, sitting with his family around a kitchen table in Indiana, which is about as far away from anywhere he wants to be as it gets, if you ask him.

But he's not allowed to say so, because the reason why they're here is more important than where he does or does not want to be.

His uncle Matt lives in Shelbyville, a world away from New York, with Bucky's cousins. And, until last week, with his wife, Rachel. But Bucky’s parents got a telegram a few days ago, and they all had to come here for the funeral, because Rachel died when she had the new baby, Bella.

Bucky hasn't seen his cousins in over two years. He doesn't really remember a whole lot about them. There's Bernie, who's actually called James too, like him. But since Bucky's parents used to live here with Matt until both Bucky and Bernie were over a year old, they needed a way to distinguish them when they called them. As far as Bucky's concerned, 'Bucky' is a much better name than 'James'. James sounds too grown up, too serious. And there's at least a dozen other James' on their block – Jim, Jamie, Jem, Jimmy, at least two of each. Bucky's much happier with being called Bucky.

But anyway, then there's the twins, Bobby and Billy Barnes. They're only three and they've been tugging at Winnie Barnes' skirt all morning. Crying for their Ma, who's never coming back. And Bella, the baby, is crying too. Matt barely lets go of her, keeps her in his arms, red and wrinkled as she is, so small and so fragile that Bucky's a little worried that Matt's big arms will crush her.

Bucky's Pa says that Matt and his kids will probably move to New York now, too, so Matt can work at George Barnes' garage in Vinegar Hill and Bucky's Ma can look after the kids along with her own. Bucky thinks that if there's someone who can look after seven little children, it's Winnie Barnes, who handles her own children with all the strange combination of love and toughness that only a truly Scottish mother can – at least that's what Bucky's Pa always says.

George and Winnie Barnes have three kids. Bucky's the oldest and Becca's three years younger than him. Then there's Betty, who was the youngest of the whole family until last week. Bucky thinks that he'll like having his cousins in Brooklyn, too. He likes having his family close and together.

Still, it hurts that Rachel had to die first, that his cousins had to lose their Ma and Matt his wife before they could come to New York. Bucky doesn't know how to handle death. To begin with, he barely knew his aunt. His parents moved to Brooklyn with him when he was too small to remember, and they only visited once, when he was four or five years old. All he knew about Rachel was that she was Jewish, like his Pa's and uncle's mother, and that she didn't make as good of an apple pie as his own Ma.

But she's dead now, and that means he'll never get a chance to know her better. And that hurts and makes him swallow down tears while he sits between Becca and his Pa, awkwardly tugging at a loose thread on his pants and keeping his head down because he doesn't know how to feel about seeing Matt cry silently as he rocks little Bella in his arms.

* * *

Bucky asks to go outside to play after lunch, when Matt's putting little Bella to bed and Ma and Pa are tidying up in the kitchen. He asks Bernie to come play stickball with him, but he doesn't want to. Bucky doesn't push. He asks Becca instead – the others are all too small to play – and so they go outside together, running down the driveway of Matt's workshop. Matt Barnes, like George Barnes, has a garage where he fixes cars – though there are a lot fewer of those in Shelbyville than in New York.

Becca gets ready to throw the ball just as Bucky hears a voice coming from behind him, soft and melodic.

It's not the first song Bucky ever hears – of course not, not by far – but it echoes in his mind, jumping around like a stone skipping over water. The words have him so distracted that he misses the first ball Becca throws, which makes her jump up, clap her hands and laugh at him. Bucky ignores her in favour of listening closer.

“ _Well, what is this that I can't see  
With ice cold hands taking hold of me_

_Well, I am death none can excel  
I'll open the door to heaven or hell”_

Bucky turns around slowly, seeing the garage door open and a man tidying up inside, sorting screwdrivers and wrenches, hands dirty with oil. The man has dark skin and big dark eyes, and he smiles sadly at Bucky and Becca as he keeps singing.

“ _Ooh death  
Oh death  
Won't you spare me over 'til another year?”_

Well, Bucky thinks it's a little late to ask that now. He doesn't think death works like that – not that he's an expert, though.

“ _Oh death please consider my age  
Please don't take me at this stage  
My wealth is all at your command  
If you will move your icy hand”_

Becca starts eyeing both Bucky and the man strangely, like she'd rather run inside again than be here and listen to the song. It's not like the happy songs his Pa sometimes sings when he's working in the garage. It's not even like the ballads his Ma sometimes sings when she's cooking or cleaning. It's certainly nothing like Bucky knows from the radio. Bucky's never heard anything like this.

“ _Ooh death,_ _w_ _on't you spare me over 'til another year?”_

Death, Bucky thinks, would be much less of a jerk if it really left people alone just for asking politely. He doesn't think it works so easily. You have to pray, he thinks, to make death go away. Or call a doctor, and even then it sometimes comes anyway. Bucky doesn't think he could be so nice to death.

The man has stopped singing, rubbing his hands on a rag before closing the garage door behind himself and locking everything up.

“What's that song?” Bucky asks boldly, too curious not to ask. The man stops on his way towards the door to Matt's house, looking at Bucky for a moment, still smiling.

“It's just something I got stuck in my head,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Heard it in Asheville the other day.” Bucky doesn't know where that is, but he doesn't much care, either.

“I don't think you can just ask death to leave you alone,” Bucky says, ignoring the elbow Becca shoves in his left arm. “Everyone'd be doing it if that works.”

The man laughs at that, shaking his head a little. “Yeah, I think you're right about that. What's your name, kid?”

Bucky holds out a hand, introducing himself like his Ma told him to. “James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Good to meet you, Bucky,” the man says, shaking his hand. “I'm Aaron.”

“You work for my uncle?” Bucky asks, jerking his head towards the garage door.

“I did, yeah. Moving on to something further down south now, though,” Aaron says. “Are you the family from New York?”

“Brooklyn,” comes the voice of Bucky's Pa, as he steps out the front door behind them, Betty riding on his shoulders.

George Barnes, much like his little brother, is a big, bulky man with dark hair and dark eyes – an appearance that completely belies his kind, mild nature in dealing with everyone he meets, whether it's his own family or a complete stranger. He's Bucky's hero.

He stands next to Aaron and shakes his hand, introducing himself, keeping one hand on Betty's foot so she doesn't fall. Bucky makes a face at her that makes her giggle.

From the moment either of his little sisters were born, Bucky has completely accepted his role as older brother. He's heard boys on the streets laugh at their own sisters, or make fun of them with other boys, but Bucky would never do that. He knows that, just because they're smaller than him, or younger, doesn't mean that they're anything to laugh about. He knows Becca can leave bruises when she shoves an elbow in his ribcage or pinches his arms; and he knows Betty used to scream like the Banshee from Pa's stories whenever she didn't get what she wanted – she still does it, occasionally.

Aaron and Pa are talking about the garage now, so Bucky and Becca go back to playing stickball – which, as they quickly have to admit, isn't any good with only two people playing. But neither of them feels like asking Bernie or the twins, so they give it up for today and go back inside.

* * *

Two days later, Rachel's parents and her two brothers arrive for the funeral. They drive to Indianapolis for it, where Rachel will be buried next to her grandparents.

Bucky's never been to any kind of funeral – much less a Jewish one. He doesn't understand the softly spoken words as they make their way from the Cemetery gate to the grave. He doesn't understand why Matt, Bernie, the twins, and even little Bella have black ribbons pinned to their right shoulders that they tear halfway through; or why everyone has to put three shovels of dirt on the grave. But his Pa explained last night that it's done like this and that Bucky should just go with it, so he does.

Bucky knows that his Pa and Matt are technically Jewish too, because their mother was. But their Pa wasn't, he was Irish and Catholic, so they're also kind of both. Pa explained that Matt chose to live more Jewish than himself because of Rachel. He also explained that because Rachel was Jewish, her children are, too. Bucky doesn't really understand that, either, but he goes along with it, like his Pa told him.

But the unfamiliar prayers make him think about what _he_ is. He only ever goes to Sunday mass at Queen of All Saints with his Pa - or, sometimes, to St. George's with his Ma. He thinks he must be some kind of weird mix of everything.

Then again, the whole church thing's a little weird to him. He's usually bored in church, especially with his Pa, where he doesn't understand the language either. The high arches and statues make him uncomfortable, and the priests are always angry, it seems. He knows that all the adults insist that God plays some huge part in everybody's life. He doesn't really get that either, but he goes along with it all the same.

As he stands and watches, Bucky thinks of the song he heard Aaron sing. He thinks that, if God were as great as everyone acts, he'd make death listen to people asking him to leave them alone. That'd be the decent thing to do, after all. God can't be such a swell guy, if he lets death make Matt live without his wife and his kids without their mother.

And suddenly, Bucky's really pissed at both God and death, for not caring at all about the pain his family has to feel now. He's boiling with it, maybe more than he ever was before. And he knows he's not supposed to feel anger at God, that it's probably forbidden in the bible or something, but he can't stop himself. He thinks that if he ever met God or death, he'd rather punch them in the arm than ask them nicely to stop being jerks.

* * *

After the burial, when they get back, Bucky's parents cover the mirrors in the bathroom and Matt's bedroom. Over the next week, Matt gets visitors almost every day. They bring food and they read in Hebrew to the children. Matt hasn't shaved since the funeral.

All of this, Ma explains, is tradition, so he must respect it. Bucky gets it. It's like his parents told him to respect all the people in their neighbourhood, even if they speak other languages or look different than he does. He's understood that since he was little. Just because someone's not exactly like you, doesn't mean you get to treat them like they're bad people. That makes you bad people.

They stay for another two weeks and when they're finally all back in the car, Becca asleep on the one side of him and Betty babbling happily on the other, he's more than ready to finally get back to New York.

They arrive in the evening, driving back into Brooklyn over the bridge as the sun sets. It's Bucky's idea of coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week:   
> A life-changing broken nose


End file.
